


something like hope

by savedby



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Getting Together, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-01
Updated: 2017-12-01
Packaged: 2019-02-09 04:08:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12879870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/savedby/pseuds/savedby
Summary: And I just remember turning to James, not even sure what to think, and just being like, “Oh my god. What is this guy doing?”PK has unexpected layers and Pekka is learning to like every one of them.





	something like hope

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AetherSeer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AetherSeer/gifts).



> Dear giftee!  
> Thank you so much for prompting PK. I love him and I love writing him. You didn't really specify a pairing, so I'm hoping that this rarepair hell will be something that appeals to you too. I've been wanting to write this since Pekka's Players' tribune article came out. Hope you enjoy it!
> 
> Big thanks to Dell, for the beta work and for always being there for all my dumb ideas. Thanks to Mina, for always being on my wavelength. And also, thank you to theladyscribe, for moderating this exchange and replying to my worried emails.
> 
> All the quoted bits are from Pekka's [Players' Tribune article.](https://www.theplayerstribune.com/pekka-rinne-nashville/)

 

 

 _“_ _All of a sudden, it was just exhaustion.”_

 

It’s habit that has Pekka unbuckling his pads and unlacing his skates. His limbs are so heavy it feels like he could sleep in his equipment. That he could just close his eyes and stretch out on the carpet and pretend the last few hours hadn’t happened.

 

There’s a specific kind of silence that settles over the locker room after a loss. And there’s no loss like a Stanley Cup Finals loss. If Pekka tries, he thinks he could imagine the silence stretching out of the room and up to the stands, and into the city around them. Silence, except for the distant echo of Penguins players and fans celebrating.

 

He looks around the room. Roman is in the corner, halfway stripped and leaning his head against the wood of his stall. PK has stopped somewhere through untying his laces and is now just aimlessly staring at his feet. Everyone is wearing the same expression of blank exhaustion and disbelief.

 

Then, Fish stands up, the movement cutting through the silence.

 

“Alright, boys,” he says, “that was rough.”

 

It gets him a weak laugh and he smiles slightly.

 

“I’m proud of you all,” he starts. He’s been Pekka’s teammate for a long time, almost since his beginning with the Preds, but he’s never seen Mike with this expression on his face. He’s retiring after this season. Hasn’t told anyone but it’s been implied. It aches that they couldn’t win it for him.

 

Joey speaks next, leaning in the doorway with his crutches under his arm. There are lines of pain etched around his eyes. He should probably be lying down, instead of watching his team lose while unable to help.

 

And after that, PK gets up. He’s uncharacteristically sombre, his frame somehow imposing. His voice cuts through the room, demanding attention.

 

“Hey, guys,” PK says, firmly, “this was fun.”

 

Everyone looks at him, startled.

 

“This is such an incredibly fun city to play in,” PK continues, “and the way everyone got excited to see us do well was amazing. And you guys,” he looks around the room, pausing.

 

“And you guys were awesome,” PK says, and smiles start peeking out like sunshine from behind clouds. “I came here in a really awkward situation for everyone, but you made me feel welcome from the first day.”

 

And just like that, Pekka’s chest feels a little lighter.

 

“I’m so glad I get to play here,” PK finishes, “and I can’t wait for next season. I believe in us. I believe that we can do this again and win it.”

 

His voice rings sincere even if Pekka can’t quite wrap his head around the words. How can anyone think about next season with the devastation of loss still so close?

 

But PK’s speech changes something. The room starts moving again, the air filling with quiet conversation, praise and promise both. Something grows and blooms in Pekka’s chest, watching PK move around the room, talking to guys and picking them up.

 

It feels a lot like hope.

 

_“And then P.K. spoke, and of course he was awesome — pure P.K. He talked about how fun this was. And about how glad he was to be here. And about how much confidence we should take with ourselves going into the next season.”_

 

Pekka catches sight of PK in the players parking lot later and hurries to catch up with him. There’s a half-formed idea in his head of what he wants to say, even if the location might not be the best for it.

 

“Hey, PK!” he says. PK freezes in his tracks but doesn’t turn around to look at him.

 

“Yeah, what?” PK asks, and his voice sounds weird, choked off.

 

“Are you okay?” Pekka asks, concerned. In the lamplight, he can only see PK’s shoulders and the tight grip he has on his bag.

 

PK shrugs quietly.

 

“Stupid question, right?” Pekka says with a nervous laugh. He isn’t okay either.

 

“Yeah, I just want to go home, you know,” PK says, and he sounds like he’s fighting too hard to be casual.

 

“Yeah.”

 

There’s a noise from the nearby road and PK turns his head, allowing Pekka a glimpse of his profile.

 

“Are you crying?” Pekka asks, stunned.

 

PK snorts out a laugh. It sounds a little watery. “Yeah, well, bud, if you had let me get to my car, I would have done it there, like in the movies.”

 

And it’s so dumb, and it’s so awful, that the two of them are standing there in the cool night air instead of celebrating out on the streets. Pekka walks over to touch his elbow carefully.

 

“...c’mere,” he says and opens his arms.

 

PK goes willingly into the hug, pressing his face against Pekka’s neck. He doesn’t cry quietly, his shoulders shaking, his tears dripping onto Pekka’s shirt. Pekka hugs him tighter as if that will somehow fix them, and he tries to ignore the moisture gathering in his eyes.

 

_“... that’s the best of P.K. in a nutshell: handling tough situation like a pro, and dealing with adversity in a really positive way.”_

 

Pekka really didn’t intend to be so frank in his Players' Tribune article. But they sent a really nice, earnest journalist to do the interview for it and Pekka was feeling vulnerable after the loss, and everything just sort of came pouring out.

 

PK facetimes him after the article comes out. The timing isn’t great, because Pekka had only just woken up in Finland, and PK has his niece in his lap, feeding her lunch.

 

It’s incredibly cute and Pekka is unprepared.

 

“Hey, I read the article this morning,” PK says. His niece lets out a loud screech and flings a handful of sweet potato across the room. “You were really sweet.”

 

“You’re welcome,” Pekka says, automatically. PK’s niece throws another two handfuls. One gets PK right in the chin and sticks there. “She’s got really good technique there. You thinking basketball?”

 

“We’ll get her into hockey yet,” PK shrugs, then lifts her up into his lap in an effortless motion. It draws attention to his biceps. It really is early, Pekka isn’t equipped to work under this kind of conditions.

 

“She can have my old pads if she wants.”

 

“Not a goalie,” PK says, shaking his head, “absolutely no way.”

 

Pekka laughs. “What’s wrong with goalie? It’s a vital position.”

 

“Vital and crazy, that’s what you are,” PK says. His niece abandons massacring the sweet potatoes in favour of the phone camera. She reaches for it and it’s all PK can do to balance her and the camera out of her range.

 

“I think she takes after you,” Pekka says, dryly. “Loves the camera.”

 

PK sighs. “Speaking of - thanks for omitting the crying episode from your locker room expose.”

 

“Hey, gotta protect your reputation,” Pekka says, gently. PK’s niece lets out a loud scream, presumably frustrated that she can’t get to the phone, and promptly starts crying.

 

 _“_ _I was hanging out with James Neal when the trade for P.K. happened. And it’s so funny: Before we even could talk about the hockey aspect of it all … before we even could talk about anything … the first thing James says to me — I’ll never forget it. He goes, “Check his Instagram.” So I go to the app on my phone … load up P.K.’s page … and … wait, what? What’s he doing now? I guess P.K. was … somewhere in Europe at the time? And he’s swimming in the water … with a floatie? Shouting, “_ [ _Let’s go, let’s go, Predators, baby, Predators! Let’s go!_ ](https://www.instagram.com/p/BHZvIRzDKdn/) _” And I just remember turning to James, not even sure what to think, and just being like, “Oh my god. What is this guy doing?”_

 

The thing is, PK has so many layers to him. Sometimes he’s crying his eyes out in the parking lot of the Bridgestone Arena, and other times he’s terrorizing teammates by being aggressively cheerful.

 

“Little Fifi! You’re back!” PK yells, running towards a startled Kevin Fiala to sweep him up in a massive bear hug.

 

Kevin, dangling an inch off the ground, says, “Can you let me down please?”

 

PK sets him down gently, beaming. He’s so excited, he’s vibrating on his feet, and his happiness is contagious. Pekka finds himself smiling.

 

PK spots Roman coming out of a side room and lets out an excited sound. Roman only has a second to brace himself before PK’s considerable summer bulk hits him. He does an admirable job of staying on his feet.

 

“Don’t injure the captain before the season even starts,” Pekka comments dryly, which only gets him PK’s attention.

 

Pekka is sitting down on one of the sofas in the player’s lounge, but PK doesn’t even hesitate before sitting on his lap and cuddling up.

 

“How’s my favourite goalie doing?” PK croons into Pekka’s hair. Which, Pekka knows isn’t true, but it still makes his chest feel warm.

 

“Hi, PK,” Pekka mutters, his face smushed against PK’s chest. He’s bigger than he remembers him being last season and if it weren’t for the manhandling, his chest would be comfortable to rest on.

 

“Are you ready for this season, cowboy?” PK says, and it’s so corny that it makes Pekka laugh.

 

“Sure,” Pekka says and PK makes a delighted noise and presses a kiss to his forehead, them jumps to his feet and runs out of the room, presumably to find some other teammate to strike the fear of god into.

 

Pekka stares after him, grinning, feeling suddenly inexplicably warm and buoyant.

 

Roman sighs. “You’re really doing this again this season?” he asks.

 

“What?”

 

“The cow eyes you two make at each other all the time? It’s really getting old,” Roman shrugs. Pekka glares at him.

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says and Roman rolls his eyes.

 

“You practically wrote him a love letter in the Player’s Tribune,” he says.

 

“I wrote about my experience with this team!”

 

“And you called him your man.”

 

“That’s a perfectly acceptable Americanism!”

 

“Uh-huh.”

  


_“What surprised me most about P.K., as I got to know him this year, was how laid back he is. I think, just from knowing him only through the media and on social media, and stuff like that … you see him as this big celebrity, almost. This super loud guy. And I think I kind of half expected him to be that same guy in person — showtime all the time. But when you meet him, he’s just a really good dude, easy to talk to, very impressive. “_

 

“You hanging out with us again today, PK?” Pekka asks and PK looks up from his skates and grins at him.

 

“Well, no one else wants to,” he says like Pekka hasn’t overheard him requesting that his stall is near where the goalies are.

 

“That hurts.”

 

“Aw, you know I love you, Pekks.”

 

Pekka huffs out a laugh as he changes to a butterfly stretch. His tendons protest, but he eases back slowly, holding it, waiting for the moment they loosen and stop hurting.

 

When he looks up, he finds PK watching, eyes dark and mouth slightly open in an ‘O’ of surprise. Pekka frowns, looks around to see if there’s anyone behind him, but there isn’t. By the time he turns back around, he finds PK studiously staring at his skates.

 

_“And we’re not all the way there yet … but it’s like my man P.K. said: Let’s get there next year. And if not next year, then the year after that, or the year after that, or the year after that.”_

 

The whole thing escalates when Pekka walks in on Juuse and Kevin having a very serious discussion.

 

“...so Pekka is the dad, does this make PK our mom?” Kevin asks.

 

Juuse makes a thoughtful sound. “PK would be a good mom.”

 

“He can cook,” Kevin points out.

 

Juuse glares at him. “That’s not all a mom does, Fifi, don’t be a misogyny.”

 

Kevin frowns back. “He also gives good hugs,” he says. “And don’t call me Fifi!”

 

“Sure, Fifi,” Juuse sounds so smug about it.

 

“Anyway, I guess they would just both be dads since they’re men.”

 

“Isn’t that confusing?” Juuse asks, frowning.

 

“Why are you asking me?” Kevin asks.

 

“You started this!”

 

Just then, Roman sweeps the room through the other entrance, looking at them suspiciously. “What are you two whispering about?” he asks.

 

“About how PK and Pekka are our team dad duo,” Juuse says innocently. He doesn’t notice how Roman’s face grows thunderous, or the frantic motions Kevin is making for him to shut up.

 

“Oh, I see,” Roman says, softly, dangerously, “and what am I then?”

 

Juuse seems to realize he’s in trouble and his eyes go wide. “Uhm. You’re sort of like...uhhh…”

 

“Typical,” Roman yells, throwing his hands in the air. “Ungrateful, every one of you! I grow a beard for you and everything, and you still won’t call me dad!”

 

Juuse tries to apologize, but Roman is on a roll, descending into angry Swiss that could be a combination of any four languages at the same time. He rants his way out of the room and Kevin glares at Juuse.

 

“Now look what you did!”

 

“I didn’t do anything!”

 

“He’s gonna be brooding about Shea for the rest of the day!”

 

Pekka slinks out of the room, mind racing.

 

_“And I think that’s how P.K.’s personality — and his level of play, of course — really left its mark on our team this year in a significant way. No matter what happened, on the ice or off, good or bad, all season long — it felt like we hung in there and we kept it positive. We just did our thing.”_

 

“Okay so, there were these dinosaurs,” PK settles into the seat next to Pekka at breakfast and launches straight into a story about the dream he had that night. Pekka buries his smile in his glass of orange juice.

 

He and PK don’t hang out much outside of the team. They sit close in the locker room and together during breakfast and other team meals, but whenever they have a couple of days off, he doesn’t really hear from PK at all.

 

“...so they were eating the buildings, right? Which is weird, because cement isn’t that nutritious.”

 

It’s Pekka’s fault too - he never knows what to say to invite PK to do something together. It all feels too charged somehow.

 

“And then you were in my dream!”

 

“What was I doing?”

 

“I had to save you from the dinosaurs, I think.”

 

“Did you?”

 

“I don’t know, I woke up before I could get to you,” PK says. He seems uncharacteristically serious about it, sipping on a cup of coffee.

 

“I’m sure dream Pekka is going to be fine,” Pekka says. He realizes he’s dumbly smiling at PK and makes himself stop.

 

“Mm,” PK makes a thoughtful noise. “I guess.”

 

They’re on an away trip, in Toronto where they actually have a rare whole day off to rest. It’s fairly early and most of their teammates are probably still asleep. Pekka isn’t naturally an early riser, not like PK is, but he’s gotten used to it over the years.

 

“Hey, Pekks?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“What are you doing for lunch today?” PK asks and Pekka blinks at him, instinctively looking at his watch. It feels a bit early to be talking about lunch.

 

“I don’t know,” he says. “Why do you ask?”

 

PK shrugs. “Want to go somewhere with me?”

 

‘Just the two of us?’ Pekka wants to ask, but he’s not that awkward. “Sure,” he says, “where to?”

 

“Secret,” PK grins at him.

 

“Okay,” Pekka says slowly, “what do I wear?”

 

“Just something casual,” PK says, which Pekka doesn’t trust because he’s never seen PK wear anything casual outside the locker room.

 

Joey shuffles in, blearily rubbing at his eyes, and the rest of the conversation is derailed.

 

_“And somehow you always leave an interaction with him with a smile on your face. He just does his thing.”_

 

Pekka dresses up for lunch. Not a suit exactly, but he puts on his nice button up and shines his dress shoes and then he anxiously sits on his bed, waiting for PK to knock, which he does, 1 pm on the dot.

 

Pekka groans out loud when he opens the door.

 

“You said to dress casual!” he points accusingly at PK, who grins. He’s wearing a gorgeous purple plaid suit under a muted grey peacoat and every inch of him looks perfectly groomed.

 

“You look great,” PK replies, and Pekka hates how easily that diffuses his embarrassment.

 

“Let me just put on my coat,” Pekka mutters and ducks away.

 

Turns out, PK rented a car for their excursion.

 

“Isn’t that a bit overboard?” Pekka asks incredulously as they cram into the Toyota Hybrid. PK shrugs and starts the engine.

 

“It’ll be worth it,” he promises.

 

They drive. Downtown Toronto gives way to more residential areas. Pekka keeps giving PK suspicious looks, but he doesn’t look at him, softly singing along to the Motown playlist playing in the car, so Pekka settles in for the long haul.

 

Finally, they take a turn off the freeway and PK drives up to what looks like a small family run restaurant, parking next to a beat-up SUV.

 

“Stay there,” he says, pointing at Pekka. And then he actually runs around the car and opens the door for him. Pekka wobbles to his feet, suddenly overtaken by a realization.

 

“Is this a date?” he asks, but PK is already waving at him from the front door of the restaurant.

 

“Best Jerk Chicken in Toronto,” he tells Pekka when he draws nearer. There’s no indication that he heard Pekka’s question and Pekka doesn’t feel like he can ask it again.

 

The restaurant is crowded and everyone seems to freeze when they tumble inside. And then there’s a loud delighted shriek and an older woman emerges from the kitchen, squeezing PK into a hug and kissing his cheeks.

 

It’s a little bit of a blur from there, as Pekka gets introduced to Simone, the owner of the restaurant, who pats his cheeks even though she can barely reach them.

 

“She’s my mother’s childhood friend,” PK says, as Simone ushers them to their seats while barking out orders for food that Pekka hasn’t even heard of.

 

The plates appear in front of them as if by magic. PK explains what each dish is, but it gets a little lost in the din and the distraction of their knees pressing together under the small table. Everything is delicious though and Simone beams as they put away what feels like their weight in food.

 

PK insists on paying. Simone gives them a knowing look and Pekka is going to pretend that he’s flushed from the spice.

 

They emerge into the cool afternoon air. It’s still light outside, but approaching twilight. They’re in mid-November and night time comes early. PK unlocks the car but Pekka finds himself freezing in place, mind racing.

 

Even if it wasn’t a date, he doesn’t feel like he can let PK go just yet.

 

“Hey, PK?” he asks, hoping he sounds casual rather than desperate. “Can we just walk around for a little while? This old man needs some time to digest.” He pats his stomach.

 

PK grins. “Sure,” he says, “anything to help the senior members of our community.”

 

Pekka grabs a whole handful of leafs and throws it at him as he goes past, and PK runs, shrieking, to avoid them. So, of course, Pekka has to run after him, down the street and around the corner, where PK promptly tackles him to escape another faceful of leaves.

 

Pekka doesn’t struggle, just puts his arms around him and lets himself be pressed against the brick wall of the building. “I could fight you right now,” he remarks, just to make sure PK know.

 

“You’d probably win,” PK mutters from where he’s pressed up against Pekka’s chest. Pekka runs his hands down his back, over the smooth material of the coat. PK makes no motion to move away.

 

“Was this a date?” Pekka asks softly. PK makes a sound against his chest and pulls back to look up at him.

 

“I thought it was obvious,” he says. Pekka makes a face at him and he amends. “Yeah, this was a date. If you want.”

 

“I’d like that,” Pekka says.

 

PK makes an annoyed sound. “You’re so tall,” he complains, rising on his tiptoes to press a kiss to Pekka’s cheek. Pekka responds by wrapping his arms more firmly around him and leaning down to kiss him properly.

 

They make out for a while, hidden by the alleyway. The city around them continues on its pace. Sundown begins to paint the sky in hues of pink. It grows colder, and Pekka slips his hands under PK’s coat to warm them. His chest feels warm and tight with something he doesn’t want to name yet, something that feels like more than hope.

 

_“And then from there … honestly, it was all kind of this amazing blur.”_

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even really go here, I just have a lot of feelings. Find me on [tumblr](http://muzzmurray.tumblr.com/)


End file.
